


From Lawbreaker to Lecturer

by SofluwYerg



Category: RWBY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 17:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12917208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SofluwYerg/pseuds/SofluwYerg
Summary: Cinder Fall hadn't turned up that fateful night. Blacked out after uncharacteristically hitting his head on a lamppost, Roman Torchwick found himself sent to the most secure detention centre in Vale, and then unexpectedly given a job. As if it wasn't bad enough to be subjugated to the tedium of employment, he found himself teaching the very huntsmen he so despised Economics at Beacon Academy.





	1. Chapter 1

The plan was that he’d rob this dust shop, strip it of all the dust that the decrepit old dude in charge owned. Then, he’d slip out while the cops remained unaware, and then proceed to the next stage of his own employer’s grand ambitions once she’d wrapped her delicately manicured hands around enough dust. And, as a side benefit, he’d get to live through whatever she had in mind for Vale.

 _And now,_ thought Roman Torchwick, _it’s at risk of being put back by a little girl._ Sure, he could probably take her. It wouldn’t be too hard. But, it wouldn’t do to get his hands dirty when his minions (who he had bought at great expense) were supposed to be able to handle threats like this.

Well,  _ supposed  _ to.

Looking at them groaning, beaten, on the dirty road, Torchwick inwardly sighed. What a rip-off. He hoped that the next time he had to rob a dust store, he’d have the luxury of competent goons. One of them landed face-first on the ground at his feet after being launched by an airborne bash with the head of her giant scythe.

“You were worth every cent.” Roman mumbled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly, you were.”

He narrowed his eyes at the red-hooded girl in front of him. From the look of her, she was clearly ready to fight him. In a dimly lamplit street, surrounded by high residential buildings, with incredibly convenient ladders climbing their brick sides. The girl was certainly skilled, yes, but she didn’t even try to assess her opponents and their surroundings before engaging - she was talented, but a novice.

_ How ironic. Little Red was still green. _

“Well, Red, I think we can all say it’s been an eventful evening!” he dropped his cigar to the ground, and snubbed it out with Melodic Cudgel, “And, as much as I’d love to stick around, I’m afraid this…”   
  
He raised his cane, the bottom of it flipping up to reveal a scope, and the weapon’s true nature.

“... Is where we part ways.”

He fired, and a flash of colour lit up the surrounding street as the firework exploded at the girl’s feet.  She managed to dodge it with an expert backflip - Roman, however, was already on the move.

Taking the opportunity, he dashed across the road to the nearest pavement and scaled the escape ladder he’d eyed earlier.

The girl had obviously expected a confrontation - he could tell just by looking at her that she would expect him to run in and attempt to attack her. She was the heroic type - fighting with flair and grace and expecting nothing in return, and she would near undoubtedly guess that he’d attack her simply due to being a “bad guy”.

He let a coy smirk spread across his face. This girl clearly didn’t seem to know bad guys very well.

He hoisted himself up onto the top of the building and began to run over to the agreed escape route. Just a moment, and he’d be out of here, with the authorities clamouring in his wake.   
  
A shot rang out, followed by the thud of a scythe-wielding annoyance’s feet.

“Persistent…” he muttered under his breath.

Well, his bullhead out was going to arrive any moment now. It shouldn’t have been much of an inconvenience if the little girl wanted to run to her own doom. He turned around, and raised his cane.

A blur of rose petals filled the air as the girl rushed to attack him. The scythe flashed passed him as he sidestepped it artfully, responding in turn with a swipe with Melodic Cudgel. Steel met steel, and the two were knocked back.

The girl narrowed her eyes.

_ Yeah, unfortunately I’m not quite as incompetent as this lot, Red.  _ Torchwick mused, smiling.

“Is that all you have to offer? I thought you were  _ better  _ than that, Red!”

The air above him swished as her weapon slashed the air right where his head had been. The blow would’ve taken a chunk out of his aura, had he failed to dodge it.

She followed up into a swipe across his midriff, which he batted aside with his cane, followed up by an attempt at jabbing him with the blunt end of her weapon. He sidestepped it, and smashed the back of his hand into her face.

There was a satisfying smack as the girl was sent onto the ground.

Yes, the girl was very much outclassed. She was soon back up on her feet, and raised her weapon, firing a number of shots at the ground beneath him.

So, sweet little Red wanted to sweep him off of his feet, did she? How adorable.

He began to dance his way through the bullets - stepping erratically, and in random directions, sometimes slow, sometimes fast in response to the chaotic time her gunfire set. He was closing in, and there was little the girl could do to stop him.

Well, he could take his time. His getaway craft was about to arrive at any coming moment…

He frowned.   
  
Where the hell was his employer? If things went south, she was supposed to be the one coming to bail him out. So why hadn’t she already  _ arrived?  _

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the close proximity between him and the girl in red. From the way she frowned and her eyes narrowed, he could tell she knew she was running out of options.

She leaped back in the air to regain the distance she found comfortable. Right into a lovely, predictable arc.

“End of the line, Red.”   
  
She looked down, just in time to notice the small red crystal rolling across the ground.   
  
Right underneath where she was about to land.    
  
Right in front of Torchwick, with his weapon primed and ready to fire.

And she couldn’t do anything to stop it - not while reloading Crescent Rose.

There was a flash, as an explosion bloomed across the rooftops; a rose upon the grave of Little Red.

Unfortunately, someone had decided to intervene. Standing in front of the small girl was an imposing blonde, with a bitchy face and glasses to complement. And in front of the blonde was a glowing purple circle.

How frustrating. Red could’ve been dead, but Purple had hopped in just in the nick of time.   
  
“Where do they get you all from?” he tutted.

He could really have used that escape vehicle about now.

The shrapnel dislodged from the explosion began to float in the air in circles.

So, Purple was a telekinetic, hm? The rocks were moving around in random circles, twisting and turning unpredictably. Each time he tried to follow the path of one, he would promptly lose track of it, instead having his gaze drawn to another one. There was no discernable pattern in their movements, even to the most experienced of eyes.   
  
_ … Shit. _ She was good. He couldn’t tell which rocks she was going to launch at him at a glance.

She raised her wand (or, wait, was that a  _ riding crop? _ ) in the air, and the rocks dove at him.

Each one came from a different direction, trying to cut off any of his potential routes of escape. He dodged aside, and deflected one stone with his cane. But, there were simply too many - he was trapped within a stone tempest, and the only thing he could do was hold back and let himself be pelted. And his aura felt every hit.

_ Unless… _

He gazed behind him.

The edge of the building presented itself invitingly back at him. His aura was clearly depleted, and he might not’ve been able to land the fall unscathed, but one look back at the stone-storm the blondie was throwing at him made the choice seem all but obvious.

He was trapped between a rock and a hard place, and to Torchwick the rock had always been more appealing.

After all, rocks provided great cover.

He rushed backwards, and dove off the side of the building with a tip of his hat. The huntress soon rushed in pursuit.

She probably wouldn’t be quick enough to keep up with him, would she - ? And Cinder could probably find him before he’d get captured; he’d be able to survive the end of another day, and could return to business as usual.

He looked behind him, only to see the top end of one of the many lamp-posts that dotted the darkened streets of Vale growing before his eyes.   
  
_ Oh, you have got to be kidding - _   
  
Torchwick only had time to register intense pain spreading throughout his skull, before the world closed its curtains and cut his thoughts short for the intermission.

 

*X*

 

Roman sat in his darkened cell with his head in his hands.

Of course, it was only natural that a criminal of his caliber had been kept alone in his cell - he was too dangerous to be simply left with company, of course.

Still, having company, however idiotic, was better than only having the dull, grey, concrete wall to talk to. He thrived when there were others to boss around, and if they were trying to get to him with this isolation, they were beginning to succeed. As much as he wouldn’t admit it to their faces. 

The lack of a cigar was beginning to frustrate him, too.

How the  _ fuck _ had he let himself get locked up in here?   
  
If it wasn’t for the shackles around his hands, he’d have attempted to punch a hole through the wall. He’d have probably left a sizeable hole in it, too, if it were any normal prison. But, knowing the kind of cell they’d have locked Roman Torchwick in, there was no way it was going to be that simple to escape.

He could wait for someone else to break him out, he supposed. Neo? She’d probably turn up in due time, but Torchwick wasn’t sure if she’d arrive to him sitting in a dust-powered electric chair for a less than soothing shock massage or not.

Cinder?

Well, given her current track record at helping him escape, he couldn’t hedge his bets just yet. It would be nice to have her repay him this humiliation, though. He had, after all, been knocked out after landing on a lamp-post. Or, had that telekinetic chick managed to bend it and smash his head?   
  
… That would’ve been a much less embarrassing explanation, for certain. But, something told him that a bad landing would’ve been just fucking perfect enough to be true. Like him destroying a brand new pair of shoes after a guy swerved and ran them over by accident. Or him dying anticlimactically, eaten by a gryphon.

He couldn’t quite explain the sudden chill that ran down his spine.   
  
He was broken from his thoughts as a dull thud emanated from the reinforced door that held him apart from the people he’d really have liked to kill right now.   
  
“You don’t need to knock, babe, I’m always ready for you.” Torchwick smiled, and winked at the door suggestively.

The door creaked open slowly, and his face fell when on the other side lay the same woman who’d been responsible for him being sent to the slammer in the first place.

It was all he could do to try and stop himself from walking up and strangling her. Luckily, Torchwick was a master of self-restraint. Trying to keep away from the authorities for most of your life will do that to you.   
  
“A shame, because I can certainly say I’m not interested, Torchwick.” the woman said. Her words didn’t seem to say enough compared to the glare she shot him, which he was pretty sure could probably puncture a lesser man’s skull.

“ _ That’s  _ what they all say at first, darling.” Roman said. The coyness that he wanted to drape his anger in was held back by his gritting teeth.

There was no noticeable change in the woman’s expression. It was almost as if she was a sculpture.

“For whatever reason,” she continued, “You’re going to be taken out of this cell.”   
  
Wait, what?   
  
Torchwick raised an eyebrow.   
  
“I knew the public would come around eventually. I mean, Roman Torchwick? A criminal? How ridiculous!” he joked.

Nope, still no change in expression.

“Make no mistake.” She continued, unfazed by any of Torchwick’s comments, “You’re not going to just be let out. If I’d had my way, you’d have been left to rot in that cell forever - but for whatever reason, my superior wants to have a talk with you.”

Her… Superior?

If he was correct, this was Glynda Goodwitch, the deputy headmistress of Beacon Academy - the sanctuary for the ever-so-sickeningly heroic, brave, and kind. So, the person she was answering to would be  _ exactly  _ the kind of person Torchwick would want to avoid.

One of the suits. The bureaucrats. The administrators of the mess of a society Torchwick tried to escape from. And, for whatever reason, they were interested enough to talk to him directly instead of sweep him under the rug like they did the rest of the things they didn’t want to deal with.

He frowned. An idea of who it could be had already begun to form in his mind, and he didn’t like it one bit.

She wasn’t leading him directly to where she wanted to take him - bringing him through random corridors only to come back to the one they were at originally. An attempt to disorient him, no doubt - to prevent him from memorising the layout of the building.

The corridors looked the same, for sure. Long, clean and white - the floors were tiled, and the only noticeable features on the walls were the occasional barred doors. Torchwick could hear the occasional insane cackle coming from within them. The walls were clearly soundproof, however - apart from the aforementioned cackles and the odd conversation between the guards, there was nothing to be heard from outside. No cars, no bullheads, no crowds, nothing.

Didn’t really matter. He’d seen the blueprints for this building before, and from the layouts of the passages Glynda was so graciously leading him through, could tell where it was with ease.

The Vale Police Department’s maximum security detention center. He had a rough idea of the surrounding area - it was kept close to the inside of the city, near the council. As much as they’d likely have preferred to distance the most dangerous criminals in the country from them, the negative emotions of the worst criminals Vale had to offer were more than likely to attract a few Grimm; so, they’d chosen the next best option and brought them as close to their centre of power as they possibly could.

It was annoying that he was having to waste all this time getting to wherever the heck she wanted him to go, but who was he to complain if she wanted to show him the building’s security? It would come in handy when he almost inevitably made his way out. By the time she had finally stopped, Torchwick knew half the posts of the guards throughout the entire complex they’d left him in.

In front of them was a small door with a brass handle, the only one thus far that wasn’t reinforced with the strongest metal in Remnant.

Glynda opened the door, and gestured for him to enter.   


He smiled and walked in.

The room he found himself in was small and stuffy. A fire was burning in a fancy-looking marble stove on the left, with a few ornaments strewn on top of the mantelpiece above. The walls encasing him were painted with a soothing green he despised, with wallpaper that looked like climbing ivy. 

The oak floor creaked under his feet, causing the leaves of the nearby potted plants to rustle a small amount. A few paintings, of long-dead wardens, were hung from the walls and their eyes seeming to stare disapprovingly at him. Perhaps they were envious that a criminal like him was still alive and they weren’t.

Within the centre of the room, there was a sleek and polished desk, with a surface that shone in a way only doable with antique mahogany. It seemed to dominate the rest of the room, and the random objects left around on it were almost elevated to a higher caste than those around them.

One of these objects was a small steaming mug, with Vale’s emblem on it, likely filled with coffee. And from the scent it gave off, Torchwick could tell it was of extremely high quality; likely a Menagerie import.

The kind of coffee that suited the man drinking it.

Sat at the desk was the headmaster of Beacon Academy, Professor Ozpin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I've been horribly lazy with updating here. If you check on FF.net, you'll find that this fic is currently over 15 chapters long. So, to recompense, I plan to update this daily with all of the content you've been missing out on from yours truly until I'm up to date on both sites.
> 
> Enjoy!

Cinder Fall was no single type of woman: she was a powerful woman, a domineering woman and most certainly a terrifying woman. But, she was not a patient one. Her various underlings had found out the hard way what testing her patience meant for them.

They’d gotten over the charred limbs eventually, and it certainly made them much quicker on the draw.

However, currently, she was very much at the end of her tether.

“He’s bailed, hasn’t he?” someone said from behind her.   
  
Cinder turned to see the sly, silver-haired face of one of her assistants, Mercury Black, with a cocky grin affixed to it. Of course, as with many of his comments, it was met by a scoff from the green-haired girl, his partner, Emerald Sustrai, next to him.

“No way. He values his life too much to even  _ think  _ about messing with us.”   


“I don’t know - he certainly seemed like the cocky and overconfident type; wouldn’t be too surprising if he decided to turncoat on us now,”

The girl rolled her eyes.

“You know as well as I do that his confidence is just a front - he puts it up to look tough,” Emerald narrowed her eyes and grinned slightly, “I’d have thought you of all people would understand, Mercury.”   
  
“Hey, I’m not the one who literally wins fights by making myself look tough, am I?” Mercury put up a provocative smile, and the green-haired girl was happy to oblige.

The two promptly began their usual back and forth of passive-aggressive banter. Cinder had to devote almost all of the strength in her mind and body to not slam her hand against one of the numerous boxes that dominated the warehouse around her.

She honestly hated it. It was dark, draughty and dusty - the air was so stale she was surprised that the various workers who helped lift their cargo hadn’t been assaulted by airborne mould. Cinder liked her surroundings to be lavish, and luxurious - to suit the Queen that she was - but being in here made her feel like some form of peasant.

And yet, she was being held here by the ever-lengthening absence of Roman Torchwick.

She’d only  _ asked  _ him to go and rob a single dust store - he was one of the most talented master criminals in Vale’s history, so it shouldn’t have been too hard.

_ It had certainly been hard enough for him to not return immediately,  _ a small part of her taunted.

She soon silenced it.

The fact that he hadn’t returned yet certainly gave Mercury’s theory some credence: there was, simply speaking, no way Torchwick would have been met with enough trouble to not return from something so trivial.   
  
But, Emerald was right. She had made sure Torchwick would follow her plans - he was either with her or dead on the ground, and he quickly made the right choice. There was  _ no way  _ he would suddenly believe that she wouldn’t win in the end, and he was the kind of man to make sure he was on the right side.

So, what if something had interfered? What if some unknown factor had changed in the general plan and prevented him from getting back to them?

Suppose he’d been met with an unexpected issue, would he have been able to handle himself? He was a capable combatant, far more so than the average criminal - anyone who was able to turn up to that scene quickly enough would’ve been no match for him.

But, if he  _ had  _ been met with someone he’d been unable to beat on his own, what would’ve happened?

He’d have…   
  
_ Oh. _   
  
Suddenly, the realisation struck her like a lightning bolt, and every sinew in her body stiffened as if paralysed.

He’d have  _ escaped. _

Which she had promised to help him do in case something went wrong.

… And she’d  _ forgotten  _ about it. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t important enough for her to care - she did have a contingency plan in mind for what to do without him, but it was inconvenient and risky. It had slipped her mind, almost as if by magic.

How on  _ earth  _ had she let that happen?   
  
This felt forced. Ridiculous. Out of character for Cinder Fall. She was the villainess, the chess master; she didn’t just  _ make mistakes  _ like that. She couldn’t. She had to engineer the beginning of the end of Remnant’s society! She wasn’t  _ allowed  _ to make such inconceivably stupid errors!   


Torchwick’s disappearance now made all too much sense. He’d assumed she would come in to help him after something turned up that he couldn’t deal with, and had waited for her. And she didn’t turn up.

Still, it didn’t mean that he was out of their hands. He could just be laying low, or running away. He’d be resentful, sure, but it was nothing a little bit of intimidation couldn’t fix. In fact, she could make it serve as a reminder of how expendable he was!   
  
Yes, she could very much turn this in her favour. Him being out of contact with them didn’t have to mean he’d been captured, right?   
  
Her scroll buzzed, and she ignored it. Whatever happened could wait.   


“... Uh, Cinder?”   
  
She turned around, and saw her two associates jump back with fright.   
  
Oh, her face was locked into a dangerous frown. She wiped it clean, and set it back into its usual sinister smile. The two relaxed shortly after.

It was good to know they were still afraid of her.

“Mercury, Emerald.”   
  
The two stiffened, and if not for her better instincts, they’d have looked as if they were about to salute.

“Yes, ma’am?” they both winced.   
  
“We’re going to find Torchwick. Knowing him, he’s likely just laying low - if he hasn’t turned up yet, something’s gone wrong. He’ll be angry, but…” she grinned wickedly, “It’ll be nothing  _ I _ can’t tame.”

Mercury and Emerald coughed, and returned her wicked grin with a sheepish one.

“Well… uh, about that.” Mercury rubbed the back of his neck, and held up his scroll.

There was one new message from Neo.   
  
**_‘Roman got caught.’_ ** was all it said. But, those three words were more than enough to make her angry.

Cinder’s smile returned straight back to a frown, and her lips went from that suggestive curve to a dead straight.

A small and nervous chuckle escaped the grey-haired youth’s lips.

She glared at him with an ire that could’ve melted rock.

A lesser woman would’ve screamed in fury. Instead, she calmly set light to Mercury’s hair.

 

*X*

 

“Roman Torchwick.” the man, bespectacled and dressed in an impeccable green suit, extended his hand as a greeting.

So, Torchwick’s suspicions were well founded - Professor Ozpin really  _ was _ interested in him.

As for why, he still had no fucking idea.

“... Professor Ozpin.” Torchwick’s eyes narrowed.

It wasn’t like he had any distaste for Ozpin personally; he was merely the figurehead of the world Roman had come to loathe so much: the “guardian” of the innocent and the teacher of naive, young, and stomach-wrenchingly idealistic young huntsmen. He supposed Ozpin having taught those most likely to put him in jail would also be a decent reason to dislike the guy, too.

Finally meeting the man only furthered his distaste.

He gripped the extended hand, and shook it. His spite was showing, but Ozpin either didn’t see it or ignored it completely.

“Please, have a seat.” he gestured towards the small deckchair in front of the desk that seemed to be cowering in his presence, “I apologise that you’re still wearing the shackles - I wanted them removed, as a matter of fact - but it’s a necessary precaution.”   
  
Torchwick frowned in confusion, then sat down. He didn’t trust Ozpin. Not one bit. He was being almost too polite for someone talking to a criminal mastermind, and the setting didn’t seem right for asking the kind of questions he’d expected.

If he wanted to torture Torchwick for answers, then what he wanted and was doing didn’t add up at all.

“I guess being waterboarded in this office wouldn’t be so bad, but it might get your lovely oak floor a little bit stained.” Torchwick joked drily.

To his surprise, the professor only chuckled. It was hearty, and worse yet, felt genuine.

Was this some kind of ploy? To throw him off guard?

He scanned the room, trying to spy any hidden cameras or two way mirrors. There were certainly no telltale signs - no suspiciously still flies on the wall, no strange gaps between the leaves of the plants, and no lenses on any of the paintings.

The only other person in the room with them was Goodwitch, who was stood, stiff as a statue, near the window.

It really did seem like there were only three people privy to their conversation.

“Don’t worry, Torchwick, no one's listening in.”

Torchwick flinched. Was he that easy to read? He’d tried to hide his glances across the room, but it seemed like that wasn’t enough.

“Clearly you of all people should be the one telling me whether the room is bugged or not.” Torchwick muttered sarcastically.

“If you want, you can check around. I removed most of them myself before you arrived here, but it’s possible I missed one.” From the smug look on his face, it was clear he hadn’t.

Torchwick glanced back at the headmaster.

“You removed them  _ yourself? _ ” Torchwick couldn’t really hide his bewilderment.

“Despite the authority my position holds, I  _ am  _ still independent from the government, Torchwick.” the man glanced around the room himself, “And they’re oftentimes all too keen to find out what I’m up to.”

“I thought they’d bug the room to find out about me, not you. Last I checked it was Roman Torchwick detained in Vale’s most secure detention center, not Professor Ozpin.”   
  
Another wry chuckle.   
  
“I can’t exactly blame them for prying into others’ personal business. They’re running a country, after all - it’s in their nature to try and snoop in on our fun.”

Well, that one earned Ozpin a certified, Torchwick-brand laugh.

If he really was trying to get him to lower his guard, it was working.

“Anyways,” the green-suited man continued, “It seems you were brought here imagining that you would be questioned. I can assure you - I have no interest in your recent dust robberies, Torchwick. Try to think of this as more of… an interview.”   
  
… An interview?   
  
“What, are you going to give me a job or something?”

Torchwick had long since learned that it was best, when being intimidated, to retain a sarcastic sense of humour. If you weren’t taking it seriously, they’d get frustrated and it would break their flow - they’d lose the upper hand.

It was also good to try and read people’s expressions and body language, too. People were often not in complete control of them - they’d let something slip through their emotional blockade, and you could slowly begin to pick them apart from the gaps.

But as far as these were concerned, the headmaster of Beacon Academy was giving away  _ nothing. _

He reacted to everything he said calmly and concisely, and his words were carefully chosen so as to make Torchwick feel less on ice. As for his expression, well…

Ozpin had yet to break his smile even once.

“I wouldn’t count yourself out, Torchwick.”   
  
Torchwick laughed again.

“With my criminal record, it’s understandably hard to find proper employment.”   
  
“Through normal channels, maybe.”

The air in the room seemed to grow completely still.

“What do you mean?”   
  
Ozpin’s smile only widened.   
  
“I mean, Torchwick, that dependant on the results of this interview, I’ll be giving you a job.”

He stated it nonchalantly, as if it was nothing major. Torchwick tensed, and for the first time Glynda’s iron glare had been shifted, morphing into a lovely face marred by total shock.   
  
“P-professor, with all due respect - !” she stuttered, but a single gesture from Ozpin shut her up. She returned to the window, glaring pointedly at Roman.

“With all due respect, Glynda, I believe Torchwick could more than suit the position.”   
  
“Yeah! I can teach your kids how to steal from and murder people! That would be great for PR, wouldn’t it?” Roman said. Being coy was satisfying, and it at least had an effect on Glynda, who was (if her face was anything to go by) clearly holding a firm lid on her frustration to prevent it from boiling over. Ozpin remained as inscrutable as ever.

“Lockpicking  _ is  _ a skill that can come in handy, but no, Torchwick. I had something else in mind.”   
  
“Like what? Home economics? Sorry, greenie, but I can’t cook.”

“I’d like to offer you a position teaching Economics at Beacon Academy, but  _ not  _ of the domestic kind.”

That was it - this was completely surreal. Roman burst into laughter, panting and gasping for breaths. Glynda frowned at the blatant rudeness, but simply decided to not interfere. Ozpin merely waited for him to stop.

It was about thirty seconds before Torchwick finally recovered himself.

“You… You want _me_ \- _an underground crime lord, the most notorious in the_ entirety of Vale \- to go and teach your students about how to handle money!?”

“For someone to make as much money as you do off of fraud, they have to have an intimate understanding of the monetary system. And the average, heroic huntsman or huntress doesn’t often have any idea how to manage their finances. Do you know how many huntsmen end up running themselves dry of cash due to poor fund management?”   
  
“Approximately five to six hundred a year.”   
  
Torchwick would know. Desperation made huntsmen everywhere much more eager to take out shady loans; ones that he often profited from. Of course, the general public would never find out about it.

“Exactly, Torchwick. Not to mention that being able to predict a financial crash would allow budding huntsmen to  quickly respond to the subsequent increase in Grimm activity. It’s valuable knowledge for our students, and you’d have the benefits of being out of this unsightly prison.”   
  
Torchwick rolled his eyes.   
  
“Come on, greenie. I’m not about to get a job, especially not one with you. Employment is imprisonment under a different name - except here, I have time to myself, and since there aren’t any children running around it’ll be nice and quiet.”   
  
“Understandable enough, I suppose.” Ozpin mused, “I wouldn’t expect you to cope with the noise well, given your only experience with children was with a mute one.”   
  
Torchwick’s blood ran cold.   
  
“How the hell do you know about -”   
  
Ozpin held up his hand, indicating for him to stop talking. Torchwick complied - he could tell who was in command of the room, and he wasn’t about to challenge their authority.

“I know a  _ lot  _ about you, Torchwick. I do extensive background checks on each of my potential teachers, and it’s safe to say what I found out about you was quite the treasure.”

“And just  _ what  _ did you find out about, Ozpin?” asked Torchwick, trying to regain his composure. It wasn’t going too well.

The green-suited shithead’s smile seemed to take on a malicious quality. He knew he’d gotten under Torchwick’s skin.

“I found out about your rather… illustrious former business associates. I also found a rather interesting trail of breadcrumbs that could lead you to a very swift and very public execution.”   
  
Torchwick tensed up; he felt numb from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. He hadn’t been this terrified for a  _ long time.  _ Even Cinder, with her barely concealed threats and intimidation tactics, couldn’t have reduced him to such a pathetic state.

There were a few crimes that he’d committed that could lead him to the execution chamber. They’d been covered up thoroughly, however - a string of unsolved murders and disappearances with expired statutes of limitation couldn’t hurt him anymore.

But there was only one crime that lead to the public death sentence; one thing deemed evil enough that the whole populace would be glad to see you die live on television.

And Torchwick was not prepared to be found guilty for it. Not in one million years.   
  
“Of course,” continued Ozpin, “I’ve no obligation to reveal any personal information I find on my faculty to the authorities. A detainee of the prison housing the most dangerous convicts in Vale, however…”

_ Holy shit. _

Torchwick was being  _ blackmailed. _

There was irony in this, but Roman didn’t have the wits about him to appreciate it.

He was pale, and was pinching the bridge of his nose with his shaking hands.

Goodwitch merely had her hand clasped to her mouth, aghast at the crime unfolding right before her eyes. A crime engineered by one of the most respected men in Vale.   
  
“Of course, you’re overqualified for the position, so you’ll be paid the full wages of a teacher at Beacon if you so choose to accept. You’ll be allowed to move around freely within the school grounds, but you wouldn’t be allowed to leave school grounds unattended, for a time at least. We couldn’t have a former criminal walking around in public then going back to Beacon. Don’t feel pressured to accept, however - you’re more than welcome to stay in this prison if you so desire.”

So, Ozpin had offered him an ultimatum. His eternal freedom or his survival. Give up one and receive the other in return.

Torchwick let out a shaky laugh.

The choice was obvious. He’d pursue the same path he’d followed for almost his entire life.

Even if he didn’t like it.   
  
“So… Where do I sign?”

Ozpin’s smile returned to its former state. He pushed forward a contract, and a quill, and pointed to a single blank line underneath the contract’s terms.

Torchwick picked it up, and signed his name.

Ozpin then took it out of his hands, folded it, and handed it to Glynda.

“Most appreciated. We’ll arrive with a bullhead in the next two days, by which point your possessions will have been returned to you. We’ll fill you in on the details of your job on the journey to Beacon.”   


And with that, the most dangerous man the infamous crime lord had ever met got up from his chair and left the office, his shaken deputy trailing behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to reply consistently to any reviews with criticism or queries about the plot - or any particularly entertaining jokes - and give a general response to the rest; so when more reviews begin to appear, my responses to them will likely turn up here!


	3. Chapter 3

“Ozpin, you _can’t_ be serious about this!” Glynda stammered.

She’d known the man for her entire career at Beacon, and he had thus far come across as exactly the kind of person she’d idealised when she first heard about the reputed Professor Ozpin - calm and serious, but good-humoured and kind, wise far beyond even his years and an incredible combatant.

She soon learned he was also diligent - his commitment to his secret job of protecting Vale was nothing short of exemplary: he would constantly be checking for potential threats to the kingdom, go great measures to help keep the peace between nations, and set the standard for people who shared this common goal.

But, what she had seen him do today defied everything she had ever pictured, let alone seen him doing.

He had not only elected to hire a dangerous criminal as a teacher at a school for young teens trying to become defenders of society but blackmailed him into doing so!

By the end of that meeting, the man she looked up to so much had seemed no less criminal than the scum that sat opposite him.

“I _am_ serious about this, Glynda.” Ozpin retorted curtly.

“B-but he’s a _criminal!_ Just think about the influence he’ll have on the students!”

Ozpin only chuckled. It was especially frustrating when Glynda had no idea what he was concealing behind his laughter.

“Yes, he’s a criminal. But, from what happened in that office, I’d suppose I’m one too.” He looked down at her, the light of some contrived plan beginning to glow behind his pupils, “Am _I_ a bad influence on the students?”

Glynda sighed.

“Ozpin, that’s ridiculous. Of course you aren’t. But that’s because you teach them to try and be good people - who says this Torchwick man will do the same?”

Ozpin gazed out at the city below them flying by through the window of the bullhead they were travelling in.

“Do I, Glynda? Is being a good person something that can be taught? Or is it something our students carry within them from long before they enter our halls?”

“What do you mean, Ozpin? You don’t honestly believe that being a good person is decided at birth, do you?”

“Think of it as akin to a flame, Glynda. Within Beacon, each student carries a flame of righteousness within their hearts. This flame has been with them since they were born - with some, it may wither and die out.”

“You don’t honestly think that - of all people - _Roman Torchwick_ would be the kind of person to tend to that fire?”

“I must often remind myself that I've done many things I am not proud of, even if they were for the greater good.  I am a villain just as much as he, but, I know that I still let that noble light guide me and I think that with some time he could too.  Within him, crooked as he is, I see the glowing embers of a good person; and time will tell whether they grow into a great inferno, or die out completely.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You think that, of all things, him working at _Beacon_ is going to change his ways?”   
  
Ozpin chuckled.

“Who said I wanted to change his methods?” he asked, grinning, “I was only planning on changing his motives.”

Glynda sighed. There was simply nothing to be gained from attempting to argue with Ozpin. He was a greater judge of character than she could ever be.

Still, she couldn’t help but harbour doubts. She would see for herself if Ozpin was right about this one.

*X*

All things considered, Roman Torchwick thought, this situation could’ve been much worse.

He could be _dead,_ for one. That would’ve been bad, for sure. He wanted to remain alive for as long as possible.

Other than that, however, this was definitely the worst-case scenario. He’d been captured, imprisoned, blackmailed, and forced into a lucrative, legal, and admittedly well-paid job. Which prevented him from carrying out the original task he’d been given completely.

It would be difficult to orchestrate the robbery of Vale’s dust supply while on the inside of Beacon Academy.

What was worse, he was out of contact with Neo. He’d had his scroll taken out of the original set of clothes he’d worn, as well as his variety of spares. Melodic Cudgel was at the very least still perfectly intact. It even had its dust rounds reloaded from his earlier fight with Little Red and Goodwitch.

And, to top it all off, when he eventually managed to escape from Beacon, he’d have to face Cinder, wondering why he’d managed to fuck up robbing a tiny Dust store. She wouldn’t take it too well if he replied that she’d not actually come to give him the backup she had promised.

… So, yeah, altogether, things weren’t looking up for him.

He looked up to the sky. He was surrounded by a large number of heavily armed guards, and he’d decided it probably wasn’t worth trying to beat them all. He wouldn’t be able to escape the grounds of the detention centre on his own, what with the security around the perimeter, and since they were on top of a bullhead landing site, there was nowhere to hide from the people here if he decided to make a break for it.

He was stuck here, with no real opportunity for escape.

Sure, there was always the chance Neo would show up - but, he couldn’t yet hedge his bets on that. The soldiers at the perimeter weren’t completely incompetent; Neo could handle them with relative ease but she’d undoubtedly need to be careful on her way in with how many of them there were.

That and it had only been a day since his capture. There was no guarantee she would even know where he was yet. His only real ticket out of here was the bullhead that would consign him to live at Beacon Academy.

A rush of air swept across the ground, and the sound of rotors whirring filled the ears of all present. It seemed it was finally arriving. Any other man would’ve been glad to hear a bullhead about to take them away from life imprisonment or worse, but to Roman, it sounded like his bell was finally tolling.

His life, as he once knew it, was over.

The hulking, metal monster extended its legs out towards the landing pad and a drawbridge began to lower. Standing behind it were Goodwitch and Ozpin, one glaring daggers sharp enough to kill and the other with the same smile that scared Roman senseless.

“Good day, Roman!” Ozpin waved.

Torchwick wondered since when he’d been on first name terms with Ozpin. He supposed it must’ve been much easier to act all friendly around Vale’s most wanted once you had them wrapped around your little finger. Friendship was all too easy when there was nothing the other party could do to hurt you.

“Hello, Greenie. It’s a _pleasure_ to see you too.” he grumbled in return.

“I’d advise that you treat the person letting you out of here, as well as your new employer, with some respect, Torchwick.” She spat out his name, as if it were phlegm stuck at the back of her throat.

Torchwick only shrugged.

“I don’t know, Purple. I think me and Greenie are real close now that he has total command over my life. It’s like being married, only guaranteed!”

The corner of Goodwitch’s mouth twitched. She was like putty in Torchwick’s hands - being so stiff made her so much more malleable and easy to enrage. It looked like making his way into Beacon had also landed him a spot in her bad books.

Additionally, she was both too repressed and too near to Ozpin to do anything about her own frustration. It made it all the more fun for him.

“Glynda, please.” Ozpin tutted.

The woman instantly simmered down under Ozpin’s stern gaze. Torchwick almost sighed. He’d been trying to build up her irritation, but Ozpin had dissipated it immediately.

Ozpin then turned his disarming stare onto Torchwick.

“So, are you looking forward to being let out of here?” he asked, fake innocence rearing its dishonest head in his tone of voice.

“I told you this before, Greenie. I’m being moved from one prison to another. I just hope the next one I go to has better accommodations.” he drawled.

“We try to make sure our teachers have the best experience possible at Beacon - your room will be of an exceptional standard, that much I can assure you.” the headmaster affirmed, as politely and concisely as ever.

“I’ve got a nice room, have I? Oh, fantastic - I can’t wait! So when are we going to get into that Bullhead so I can finally see it?”

“As soon as I’m finished with the small amount of business I have left in this drab establishment. Don’t worry, I’m just as eager to get out of here as you are - maniacal ravings can only get so loud before they become a nuisance.”

Wait, ‘maniacal ravings’? Torchwick strained his ears.

His efforts were only rewarded by silence. The walls were too well soundproofed for him to hear anything of the inmates - as much as they’d kept him up for hours the night before.

Could Ozpin really hear them loudly enough through the walls of the prison that they’d cause him grief?

His eyes widened.

Just what kind of man _was_ he?

The green-suited professor then walked over to a number of the guards. A hushed conversation broke out between them, with the guards looking continuously more agitated, and their quiet remarks growing slowly more frantic. However, a few delicately placed whispers from Ozpin and they found their cool - clearly helped by the rather fat wad of lien he’d pulled from his pockets and handed out amongst the group of men.

He waved them goodbye, and walked back to the dumbfounded looking Glynda and the amused Torchwick.

“Ozpin - did - did you just -?” Glynda couldn’t quite seem to believe what she’d just seen.

Ozpin looked her in the eyes and held his finger to his lips, his smile still refusing to falter even under the weight of the woman’s growing mistrust. Roman almost snickered like a schoolboy who’d seen their senior come up with a particularly entertaining innuendo. He’d pictured Ozpin as a much more uptight and serious person, with a far more rigid moral compass.

Despite how much Torchwick wanted to kill him for sentencing him to a fate second to only death, he couldn’t help but find it refreshing that the man didn’t have a ten-foot stick up his ass.

Ozpin walked up next to Torchwick and Glynda.

“Well, it’s time we left. I hope you’re not having any second thoughts, Roman.”

Oh, he would have _loved_ the luxury of a second thought. Sadly, he’d only had one thought to work with.

“Not at all, Greenie.”

Ozpin’s smile transformed into a grin.

“I’m glad.”

He extended his hand to Roman for the second time that week. Roman took it, and shook it.

“It’s good to have you on the team, Roman.”

The words seemed to stab themselves into Torchwick’s ears, and he winced in pain. Being on the team felt anything _but_ good.

Glynda seemed to stiffen even more than usual next to him.

Well, at least he’d get to share this pain with someone else he didn’t like.

The drawbridge of the bullhead closed shut, and they rose into the air on a one way trip to Beacon Academy.

*X*

It was dark by the time Roman finally made it into his own quarters.

Beacon Academy was beautiful, and he loathed it.

The architecture was, simply put, exquisite - the long rings of arches with greenery atop them, standing near a flowing river, with picturesque benches at either side of the cobbled path, surrounded by neatly kept grass - it was serene. Completely and utterly serene. Just being there made Roman feel uncomfortably comfortable. He was supposed to be on _edge._ He couldn’t trust anyone, let alone anyone at Beacon Academy, and yet the beautiful scenery was throwing him off kilter.

He’d been delighted at the look Glynda gave him when he complimented the arches. She clearly hadn’t expected him to have such an appreciation for design, of all things.

Torchwick may have been a criminal, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have taste.

And the academy itself was anything if not a spectacle. It was imposing from a distance, when looked at from the city, but up close…

When he’d first seen the tower rising up to almost pierce the heavens, studded with tiny lights escaping from the windows, some half covered by curtains, he’d been filled with something akin to awe.

Just imagining the people who’d built this academy, built it to stand higher than anything else until the CCT came along, working for years upon end to erect one of the greatest schools for huntsmen ever conceived, was humbling for him. The pain of piecing together every single brick, of bringing life to this masterpiece seemed to spike through his muscles as he looked at it, and made his legs feel abnormally wobbly.

Yeah, it was safe to say being in this place was bad for him.

It was helpful to have an obnoxiously self-glorifying statue of some huntsmen standing atop a slain Grimm proudly, however. It was exactly the kind of pretentious bullshit he’d _wanted_ to see upon entering Beacon. It reminded him that it was the same pitiful “heroes” he so shunned - not masterful sculptors - that he was going to be teaching at this academy.

Although, if he could, he’d probably have torn that statue down. It really was unsightly when compared to the surrounding area.

The hallways were about as nice as the exterior was. His feet seemed to sink ever so slightly into the lush black carpet, and the walls were freshly painted with a coat of almost radiant white. The doors matched the walls nicely, given the same paint job with almost perfect detail. The hinges were oiled to perfection and the door handles were made of polished brass that clicked in a cathartic manner every time he opened one.

He’d gotten curious looks from Ozpin and his assistant as he’d repeatedly stop to test the handles along the way to his room, not that he cared much. The thought that he’d looked like he was attempting to break into the dorm rooms only made it all the more enjoyable.

Each of the lights hung from delicate lampshades, and were evenly spaced from one another with what seemed to be obsessive precision.

It was this set of lights they followed to the teacher’s dormitories.

Eventually, they’d come to a door which was apparently his, given him a scroll (his other one had understandably, but annoyingly, been taken away) and left him to his own devices.

He’d jokingly asked Ozpin to tuck him into bed, but had gotten no reply.

Thus, he had ended up in his new room.

He had to say, he liked it. It was bigger than his previous room, and cleaner, too.

There was a kitchen for his own personal use, with shining silverware and all the appliances he could ever want. It was thoroughly clean - just the way he liked it. When he ran his finger across one of the colourful assortment of knives, he noted that it was unusually blunt. He smirked. Any damage he could’ve dealt with a kitchen knife, however sharp, was dwarfed by the damage he could deal with Melodic Cudgel.

There were a number of basic culinary necessities available - a blender, a kettle, a large assortment of different sized pots and pans, and much to Torchwick’s delight, there was a fully-functional oven as opposed to the average pitiful microwave. There were even a number of empty cupboards for him to store food in.

At this rate, he likely wouldn’t need to visit the cafeteria; a little bit of cooking was certainly much less annoying than having to deal with copious numbers of sweaty teenagers socialising as loudly as they possibly could. All he needed to do was find suitable ingredients.

The entirety of the academy’s grounds was visible out of his rigorously cleaned windows. The view was like a painting, and caught the setting sun in the frame almost flawlessly. It also gave him a perfect view of the outer bounds of the academy, and from the look of it, he wouldn’t be given much trouble if he tried to escape.

In the event he _did_ escape, however, he would leave Beacon the most wanted man on Remnant.

The kind of information Ozpin had on him was not to be trifled with.

He had an en suite bathroom, too. The shower was spotless, and there were a number of small empty spaces for toiletries available to him, perfect for hiding potential contraband. He wasn’t sure he could hide a corpse in there, but if anyone went missing at Beacon it would attract suspicion - it was much too risky to commit murder when everyone knew each other.

The living room was nice, too. The sofas were plush and on brand, with a large glass table and a vase filled with a colourful array of flowers in front. The TV was large, and gave him ample opportunity to watch the news.

He’d wondered if Cinder would hold off the plans until he returned. Knowing her, she probably wouldn’t - she’d hammered it home that her plans would go on with _or_ without him, and that he was completely expendable and of no use to her once her plans were complete and so on when they’d first met.

He doubted he’d sleep on the bed, but his body sunk into it as if it were a more warm and comforting quicksand. Torchwick was more of a sofa sleeper. He was pretty sure the mattress, pillow and duvet were all stuffed with feathers; the material they were woven from was harder to pinpoint, but it was probably Mistralian silk.

The carpet on the floor was nice, too.

And then, he looked over the entire room again. He checked sofas, under the table, inside the vase, in, under and around the oven, under the bed, inside the mattress, inside the pillowcases, on top of every single cupboard, in the bath, in the shower, behind the mirrors and the interior of the television. And then he checked again.

And then one last time.

… Had Ozpin _really_ not bothered to bug his room? Or plant even a _single_ hidden camera? And, if not, why?

The man was certainly a mystery. In all his life, he’d never met someone so opaque - even Cinder at least wore her ambition on her sleeve.

He’d been pretty sure of it before, but he was now certain. Ozpin had ulterior motives for doing this.

Sure, Economics teachers were rare compared to teachers in other subjects, and compared to Roman Torchwick’s gold standard, all other potential candidates were a dime a dozen.

But that didn’t justify the immense expenditure of effort it had taken, or the risk he’d put himself and his position under by bringing him here - if anything about this business was exposed, it would be Ozpin’s head on the chopping block, and all of his hard effort would have gone down the drain as Roman was hauled back to prison.

He was also being paid the full wages, allegedly - if Ozpin had wanted to cut spending by blackmailing himself an Economics teacher, he wouldn’t have done so, nor would he have… _Sweetened the deal_ with the prison guards quite so enticingly. Plus, the idea of a school like this having money troubles was laughable.

If an Economics teacher was _really_ all the headmaster was after, Roman Torchwick should’ve been his last choice.

But, whatever Greenie’s real motives were, Torchwick had more important things to worry about.

He sifted through his memories. There was no way Ozpin would just let him have totally free reign in Beacon, contrary to what he had said before - there _had_ to be some check on his behaviour; the only questions were what and where.

… Wait, there was still one last place he hadn’t checked for a bug. His eyes widened.

He took out his new scroll, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and twisted it open.

An organised mess of dust-powered cables presented itself to him. He looked over each component one by one, checking for anything unusual or out of place.

There, next to the wireless transmitter. A small device was attached to it like a leech - and, judging from the latest model’s normal interior, this miniscule machine was _not_ supposed to be there.

In Torchwick’s world, the most obvious hiding spots could sometimes be the most obscure. This one was commendable on Ozpin’s part - Torchwick wouldn’t have expected him to take the most simple route, and no doubt the green-suited man knew this.

He looked at it carefully. If he crushed this thing, Ozpin would know immediately, and likely replace his scroll as soon as it happened.

Better to play dumb than to let him know that Torchwick was on to his games.

On the flip side, this meant he couldn’t contact Neo or his employer. Ozpin would find out about it as soon as he did and as strong as Neo was, he didn’t get the feeling she could beat him.

You didn’t just become the headmaster of Beacon without being truly exceptional.

Still… Although he couldn’t directly cross Ozpin yet, he definitely wouldn’t resign himself to doing exactly as he was told. Unlike Cinder, the professor only threatened his life so long as he tried to escape: if he was here, he was safe.

And that meant that if he played his cards right the possibilities for mischief were endless. He licked his figurative lips as the schemes began to spin together in his mind.

He was so lost in thought that when his scroll buzzed from a new message, he nearly dropped it.

He had one new message from Ozpin.

**‘I have your first task at your new job ready.’**

He read the rest of the message, and his mind began to whirl into action.

This was _exactly_ the kind of thing he had wanted. He rubbed his hands together with delight, and his eyes sparkled.

So long as he was trapped in this cesspool, he was going to try and enjoy himself however possible - and he was grateful beyond words that he’d have an opportunity so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter 3! As of yet, no reviews, but I'll remain optimistic for now.


	4. Chapter 4

“Who are you!? What are you doing here!?” the pitiful old man cried.

He was backed up against a wall, legs splayed out across the ground, and quivering in tantalising fear.   
  
She smiled.

His eyes were widened by overpowering terror as she drew her blade from its inconspicuous scabbard. Within his tiny office, there was no place for the man to run. The only people who could protect him lay dead outside the door.

They’d been decently strong, but only served as mere entertainment in the end. Even with their auras unlocked, guards were still guards - cheap and replaceable.

She flicked her wrist, and the blade now lay poised to enter the man’s throat. A mere inch, and all the blood would leave his body - staining the wooden floor.

Sadly, the information this man could possess was much more valuable than his blood. She held a notebook right up to his face, with a single request written on the front of it.

“Wh-what…?” his eyes widened when she showed him her demands.

He shakily got up, the blade still right at his quivering neck, and began to move solemnly towards his desk.

He was too slow. She prodded him in frustration.

That made him work faster.

He picked up his laptop -  _ a nice model,  _ she noted - and began to search through his records and data and charts.

With each page of information he flicked through, his clicking became more and more erratic. Eventually, he stopped, and got up from his chair. He revealed that what she was looking for wasn’t here, and when met with her growl of frustration, begged her to please spare him. He promised he wouldn’t tell a soul - he had a  _ family,  _ who were waiting for him to get back and -

Her sword went through his neck, piercing his spine and killing him instantly. As much as it would’ve been fun to play with him, murder was best done for business, not pleasure. She sat down on the desk, and fanned through the records herself.

The lists seemed endless. The number of vile people that had lived and died in these cells was great, that much was certain. Trying to find him would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Her eyes narrowed as she reached the end of the list.

The old man was right. The name she was looking for was nowhere to be found. Irritating - she had hoped to get this over with quickly.

She sat down at the desk, and scanned the list more carefully.

This time, there was no need to look for a name. A number would suffice.

She checked through every single room in the building’s neatly-organised plans.   
  
7 blocks, each labelled A to G. Each subsequent block was more secure than the other.

There was only one place they would have contained the man she was looking for. She quickly pulled up further information from the labyrinth of folders on who had been there.

Block G contained solitary confinement inmates. Each room was exceptionally small, and all were withdrawn from one another. In total, there were only ten rooms.

There were 7 occupied ones. However, there was a gap between G3 and G5 - the room was empty. The G5 inmate had been brought in yesterday, and the G3 inmate five days prior. There was no reason G4 wouldn’t have been able to contain an inmate.   
  
An image began to piece itself together in her mind.

Someone  _ had  _ been contained in G4. But they’d been removed for unspecified reason and their presence here was erased.

The person who had illustrated this cover up was an amateur; they’d failed to properly cover their tracks.

They probably worked here if they were able to not only remove the inmate, but also access this information. They also had acted outside of the knowledge of the fresh corpse in the corner of the room.

That left one remaining set of suspects.

She smiled, pulling her napkin from her pocket and wiping the blade clean.

It was time to pay a little visit some of the prison guards.

 

*X*

 

Roman glared at the large congregation of paper that had gathered on top of his living room table. Since the location of his classroom was as of yet undetermined, he didn’t actually have space outside of his own room and the cafeteria (which he wasn’t about to touch with a ten foot pole) to do any of the paperwork Ozpin had given him. Which he was more than fine with - he liked the privacy.

The task he’d been given was arbitrary and easy. Roman liked it that way - the less effort necessary, the better.

What sat in front of him was a pile of the applications of Beacon hopefuls. Given his expertise in forging documents, Ozpin had politely asked him to identify the forged ones, and remove them before he sent out invitation letters to the appropriate candidates.

Which was exactly the kind of thing Torchwick had been waiting for.

He was relatively sure Ozpin could’ve identified them himself, but Roman wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, was he?

Roman pulled a pen out of his pocket, and began to twirl it through his fingers.

He picked up the first sheets of paper.

_ Miss Pyrrha Nikos - Age 17. _

The image underneath featured a girl with red hair tied in a striking ponytail. She had green eyes that seemed to sparkle from out of the photo Roman had been given. A spark of… Something. It was hard to tell exactly  _ what  _ through the photo.

_ Won four Mistralian regional tournaments in a row, graduated top of her class in Sanctum Academy… _

_ Was the mascot for Pumpkin Pete’s? _

Roman cringed. He’d seen the production lines for the cereal before - it was made at a factory he’d robbed a while back - and some of the strange compounds they added to their mixture had made his hair stand on end. __   
_   
_ __ Outstanding aura, physical strength, speed and stamina combined with excellent tactical thinking and an abnormally powerful semblance.

Well, this one was easy enough to prove. He whipped his scroll out of his pocket, and typed “Pyrrha Nikos” into the search engine.

**‘Another victory for the Invincible Girl!’** blared out at him, along with others such as  **‘Mistral’s Greatest Gem!’** .

Much like the cereal she was the poster girl for, what he’d seen was enough for him to develop an instant distaste for her. “Invincible Girl”? It sounded like the title a narcissist would give themselves. Not the name people would give to someone _else._ It was almost as if they actually _respected_ her! He supposed it must’ve looked good in the papers.

Either way, it would’ve been far too conspicuous to drop her in the pile for fakes.

He rolled his eyes and added the first person to the pile of the accepted.

Well, knowing the type, she’d probably be boring. Under normal circumstances, he’d have calmly emptied her wallet, but robbing one’s students was frowned upon in huntsman academies.

He looked to the next one in the pile.

_ Miss Blake Belladonna - Age 17. _

She had long and wild black locks that draped over her shoulders, and a pair of golden orbs that reflected the light back into his face even on film. Almost like a cat caught in headlights. There was also an… oddly shaped bow on her head.

_ Notable roles/achievements: None applicable. _

He laughed.

_ Average aura, outstanding agility, somewhat below average stamina. Good analytical skills, quick under pressure. _

Interesting, but still…

There was no fucking way any normal school would accept such a blatantly suspicious applicant.

The information in the document likely wasn’t false - that  _ none applicable  _ simply sealed the deal. Nobody would put that on an application if they actually wanted to get into the school - they’d lie instead.

Worse still, despite this lack of accomplishment, she was supposedly an able fighter. She had to have done something to achieve that kind of talent, but for whatever reason didn’t feel the need to talk about her combat training.

So, for whatever reason, she didn’t want to reveal  _ anything  _ about her past, and that made her all the more fishy. She had something to hide, that much was clear.

As for what, Torchwick could only hazard a guess.

Well, Ms. Belladonna would have to count her lucky stars. He was in a spiteful mood, and if he was potentially inviting someone suspicious or criminal into the school, it was all the better for spiting Ozpin.

Onto the accepted pile went Blake Belladonna.

He’d already pulled the next one out by the time Belladonna’s transcripts went on top of Pyrrha’s.

_ Miss Yang Xiao-Long - Age 17. _

A buxom blonde returned his stares at her photo with a challenging lilac glare and a half-smirk. Her hair hung wildly about her shoulders; it seemed almost like the mane of a lion. He smiled. 

_ A confident one, hm? _ She looked like a born troublemaker, to say the very least. 

_ Graduated from Signal Academy, destroyed a criminal night club. _

A criminal  _ night club?  _ That sounded oddly familiar.

Wait, was this - was this the girl who had trashed Junior’s club? 

This was way too good to be true! According to his long time associate, the girl had a real mean streak and a tempestuous temper. She would be the  _ perfect  _ kind of person to bring in if Torchwick wanted to cause chaos and disorder! Just one minor teenage dispute and  _ bam -  _ property damage!

_ Above average aura, above average ability, outstanding strength and stamina. Highly confident and skilled, but lacking in self-control. Potentially devastating Semblance. _

A  _ literal  _ blonde bombshell, one that would explode if stepped on carelessly. He could already see Ozpin’s frowning face from his living room. Ms. Nikos may have been boring, but it seemed the rest of the applicants wouldn’t be quite so… stable.

He checked the next applicant, and his grin twisted into a grimace.

_ Weiss Schnee - Age 17. _

A  _ Schnee.  _ Perfect. Just damn perfect. Served him right for thinking Ms. Nikos was as bad as it was going to get. She looked like the rest of her infuriating family - with hair whiter than snow and perfect, crystal blue eyes. Her complexion was absolutely gorgeous, as if she’d been born with pure silk instead of skin like the rest of the world.

The only imperfection on her features was a scar on her left eye. No doubt from where a butter knife had lightly scraped her delicate skin. He wouldn’t be surprised if the faunus butler who was likely responsible had been discreetly overworked to death.

_ Heiress of the Schnee Dust Company, Finished first in the Atlesian Enterprise Tournament, Involved in numerous charity events… _

And the list just stretched on.

Shit… He couldn’t  _ stand  _ to see this girl - not even a single time. He didn’t even need to meet her face-to-face to know what kind of person she’d be.

He’d met Jacques Schnee once, long ago. He was a man with a titanic ego, which would no doubt engulf his own children. This would be another Jacques… With added bitchiness.

Could he put her on the pile of fakes?   
  
No, the Schnee name was a verification of authenticity unlike any other. It would be much, much too obvious if he left her in the rejects pile. It would give the game away immediately.

Her combat performances were  _ par for the course  _ for a Schnee - exceptional. Or at least, that’s what he wagered. He had to tear his eyes off of it while he put it on the pile of accepted students. If he looked at it for too long, he’d probably blind himself with her glowing reputation.

Next up, a boy.

_ Lie Ren - Age 17. _

His eyes scanned the page. He seemed normal enough, but mostly unremarkable. The details on the transcripts checked out, and he couldn’t identify any of the common tricks used in forgery to make falsehoods truths, so he simply put him on the accepted pile.

Forgettable faces diluted the increasingly dangerous concoction Torchwick was beginning to see boil within that growing stack of sheets.

_ Nora Valkyrie - Age 17. _

The more generics he could fill the gap with, the less likely Ozpin was to notice how ridiculous some of his applicants were, a nd here were a boy and a girl, one quiet looking and the other bubbly.

Nothing special or distinct about the pair  _ whatsoever.  _ He worked through the rest of the students quickly.

Before long, there were two complete and meticulously organised bundles of bureaucracy sitting on his table.

Now, for one last thing to do. 

He closed his eyes, and flicked through the pile of forgeries.

_ There. _

He pulled one out, and inspected it.

_ Jaune Arc - Age 17. _

Oh, it was  _ that  _ one. Of all of the forged transcripts, this one was by far the most blatantly false. 

One didn’t simply attend a top academy in Vacuo and then come out with such average results. He’d performed middlingly in all of his classes in a school that sought talent. Worse still, it was the same school that had been  _ completely destroyed  _ a number of years ago by an uncanny surge of Grimm. He didn’t want people looking up records, so he chose the school at which there were no records left to see.

He wanted  _ so badly  _ to be untraceable and forgettable, and there was nothing more suspicious than a desire to remain incognito.

Not to mention that before the date that the school was destroyed, the grading system they used had been an older system than the one used in the transcript itself.

The notable roles/accomplishments section had been torn apart by a short sequence of CCTS searches. And the section on his physical talents?

With what had already been on the transcripts, when he’d seen of Jaune’s supposed physical attributes and aura they simply didn’t have a leg to stand on.

It was probably just as fake as the rest of the application.

The only real part of it was the boy’s face. It would’ve been awkward if he put the face of a hardened hunter there, only to turn up the goofy boy that seemed to try to avoid eye contact even on paper - an attempt to fake it would’ve only backfired.

He had an unruly blonde mop of hair, and blue eyes. He was awkward and scraggly, too long and too thin in the areas that had to be toned and muscular. His teeth clung to his lower lip in what appeared to be a futile attempt to hold in his own mounting nerves. He puffed out his chest, perhaps in an attempt to fool himself; it was about as convincing a ruse as the transcripts he’d forged.

Oh, dear… He wore his heart on his sleeve so proudly it could be easily captured on film. Roman pinched the bridge of his nose.

This could still work, though. This could work perfectly. Roman just had to do some touchups and make the transcript a little more…  _ convincing. _

From the looks of him, Jaune was a big dreamer without the skill or smarts to make his dreams come true. Nothing but another star-struck civilian who wanted to get into beacon for all the fame and glory.

If that was the case, there was a chance he didn’t even have his aura unlocked. Which could very easily result in his death.

Nothing would reflect more poorly on Ozpin than a civilian dying in his school because they’d somehow snuck in through the admissions process.

He took out his pen, and began to scribble on the back on a blank sheet of paper.

5 minutes passed before there was a convincing and unsuspicious academic record of an aspiring huntsman named Jaune Arc lying on the table.

One covert trip to a nearby photocopier later, he had a perfect transcript for him.

He carefully placed it into the accepted pile, and smirked.

Jaune Arc could thank his fortunes. Of all the people trying to fake their way into Beacon, it was he who had been chosen by Roman.

Perhaps he’d be grateful enough to perish in an unfortunate accident for him. Then Roman might finally get to see Ozpin frown.

This was going to be  _ golden _ .

If he was being allowed to have this much fun already, perhaps life at Beacon wouldn’t be nearly as boring as he’d first thought.

He reached for his scroll, and phoned Greenie. He picked up almost immediately.

**“You’re done?”** the man asked.

“Yep. Two piles of brats, one gullible enough for honesty and the other gutsy enough to lie.” Torchwick said, almost sounding bored. He couldn’t let Ozpin think he was too enthusiastic about this - then he might catch on to the trick.

**“Wonderful. Glynda will pick up the transcripts soon, and then that will be all for the coming 3 days. I’d advise getting some rest and preparing your lessons. I trust you’ve familiarised yourself with each of the student’s names and faces?”**

Torchwick scoffed.

“Who do you think I am, Ozpin?” he challenged.

**“Beacon’s new Economics teacher, Roman Torchwick. Who else?”**

He then hung up.

 

*X*

 

Ozpin put the scroll down, and took a long sip of his coffee.

“You do realise he’s going to tamper with the transcripts, don’t you?” asked Glynda. Her eyes seemed to jump out of her head at him.

Glynda could be unexpectedly stubborn when she needed to.

He didn’t mind much. If she  simply followed his orders blindly, it meant if he ever started making bad decisions she wouldn’t have the gumption to disobey him.

… Although, with her glaring at him so intently, he was feeling more than a little awkward.

“Yes, Glynda. I know he will.” 

He pushed his glasses up, and then took another sip from his caffeinated wellspring.

“Then why do you sit here, and do  _ nothing  _ about it?” she yelled.

Glynda got very riled up over Torchwick, which was as of yet more than understandable. Torchwick had been, as Ozpin predicted, not very happy about his new job.

Torchwick would be won over in time and, hopefully, so would Glynda.

The years had made Ozpin patient. He was more than willing to wait years for Torchwick to come around, and could have waited centuries for Glynda to forgive him.

If only the world was willing to wait for nearly as long.

“I do nothing about it because there’s, as of yet, no pressing need to act,” Ozpin mused, before continuing, “Goodness, you’re sounding like James.”

“You’re saying that  _ tampering with official documents  _ with the end result being scars on Beacon’s reputation is not a ‘pressing need to act’!?”   
  
Ozpin gazed out across the city from the windows that surrounded his office.

“Glynda, Torchwick is a careful man. He made it incredibly far in the Vale underground for a reason - he picks his fights and tries to always ensure his success.”

“And bludgeons people to death on a regular basis…” Glynda grumbled under her breath.

Ozpin repressed a sigh. Glynda could surprisingly petulant when she so desired.

“He would try to hide his acts; and just what would he do to be as covert as possible? Likely place only one or two forged documents with the real ones, which is certainly not an unmanageable number. Where’s the harm in giving a fortunate soul the chance to study at the Academy of their dreams?”

“Why even give them to him if you know he’s going to alter our admissions?” Glynda’s voice had gained a razor sharp edge. Ozpin would have to be careful to not cut himself upon it.

“Glynda, remember the average number of false students going to Beacon? Last year, we had about twelve entering the school from the admissions we’d been given - and that time it was you and me checking them. Worse still, there was that time we left the admissions to  _ Peaches. _ ”

Glynda shivered.

“It’s safe to say he has much more experience with document forging than either of us do, Glynda. And I would take one student brought here deliberately over an accidental twenty-seven.”

_ Plus,  _ thought Ozpin,  _ it will make him much more comfortable around us. Which will undoubtedly help in the long term. _   


From the hesitant expression she had, it seemed that he answer he’d given still wasn’t enough to satisfy her completely.   
  
“Why, Ozpin?  _ Why  _ go this far for…  _ For a notorious outlaw?  _ What’s the real motive behind bringing him here?” she asked.   
  
Ozpin chuckled.

“I already told you. Beacon needs an Economics teacher, one with combat training and unlocked Aura. Torchwick just so happened to be available.”

Glynda rolled her eyes.  
  
Ozpin felt bad for hiding his intentions from her, _really,_ he did. He had known Glynda for a long time, and to betray her trust like this was painful.

He wasn’t lying about Beacon needing an Economics teacher - he’d wanted one for a long time but they always seemed to be in short supply and of dissatisfactory quality. So, yes, Torchwick  _ was  _ convenient for filling the role.

But, Glynda was right, there  _ was _ more to it than that.

Torchwick had plenty to offer Ozpin for his other occupation, as well. A talented fighter and brilliant economist with extensive connections to criminal underworld, and from what Ozpin himself had seen, an astute judge of character who paid meticulous attention to his surroundings.

Having him on his side would be a massive boon, but telling Glynda (or worse yet, James) that he planned to make Torchwick, a thief, crime lord, and murderer, a member of their secret assembly would undoubtedly upset them.

So, he would keep his plans to himself until Torchwick proved to him that he had what it took. He was a patient man, after all.

He drank yet another mouthful of his coffee.

It would be undoubtedly interesting to see which civilian had forged their way into Beacon among the student body. Last year, Ozpin had let that girl from team CFVY through and she had more than proven herself.

Ozpin wondered what kind of person they’d be this time around - it was always entertaining to find out.


End file.
